


Magnus being Magnus

by xenia_che



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Domestic Boyfriends, Established Relationship, M/M, Magnus Bane Saves the Day, idk how to tag this really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenia_che/pseuds/xenia_che
Summary: Basically, Alec goes to save the world and Magnus worries too much. And then goes to save the day.(Not much details but a lot of nonsense.)
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Kudos: 50





	Magnus being Magnus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steviesfreckles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviesfreckles/gifts).



> This is a small gift for a wonderful girl. I really hope it will cheer you up, darling!  
> I'm not sure what this story is about but I wanted to write something for you.
> 
> I'm not at my best with writing these days so please, be gentle.

Would you like to hear a story? A story about a warlock who couldn’t wait? It sounds drastic and maybe a bit dramatic (much like the warlock himself), but eventually it did save a life or two, so we probably shouldn’t complain, really.

Anyway. A story. The story.

It starts one day. They always do, don’t they? They start one day and end the next or in a decade or two. They’re long and short and tiny, but always leave you crave for more (and sometimes thank the stars it’s over now). Let’s hope that our story is of the first kind.

It starts one day. It is a lovely day, filled with the sun and snow and this particular kind of laziness that comes on early Sunday mornings. A warlock— the warlock— Magnus stands on the balcony of his amazing loft, his feet bare despite the freshness of the air and the chilling coldness of the concrete beneath his heels. What is the point of being a warlock who can command all the forces of nature and not use such power to stand barefoot on his own balcony overlooking Brooklyn first thing on a January morning?

So Magnus stands there, calm and lazy, his torso draped in silk, his eyes half closed, his hair spiky. A cup with green tea boiling hot in his hands. A cat rubbing its head on his calves. The wind playing with his robe.

And then he hears steps behind him.

It’s not an unexpected sound since Alexander chose to spend last night with Magnus in the loft (and yes, they’ve barely slept and Magnus has a bruise or three to illustrate their activities, and Alexander does too, but that’s not really the case right now). He is a little early, Magnus did expect him to sleep in since it’s Alexander’s first day off in the last few weeks. But Magnus smiles nonetheless, because it’s Alexander and he is the best thing that could happen to Magnus on any morning. Or evening. Or afternoon.

“Good morning, darling,” purrs Magnus, cocking his head to the side, not turning around just yet. He wants to feel Alexander’s hands around his waist. He wants to have Alexander’s lips nibbling on the tender skin of his neck. He  _ wants _ .

That doesn’t happen.

“I’m sorry, Magnus.” rushes Alexander, and when Magnus turns abruptly, he sees Alexander all dressed up in his almost uniform black clothes, a jacket in his hands. “I have to go.”

“Is everything alright, angel?” frowns Magnus, taking a step closer. 

Alexander is so captivating in all black, his hair ruffled and his lips bitten red. There is a dark spot right in the middle of the deflect rune on Alexander’s neck, disrupting perfect lines of Angels’ gift, and it makes Magnus’ mouth water against his will.

“Yes.” breathes out Alexander, and there is a glint in his eyes that tells Magnus, that he isn’t very subtle in his admiration. Though now is not the time, perhaps. Alexander shakes his head, forcibly focusing on his own words. “No. Sorry. There was an incident during the patrol last night. Underhill was badly hurt and there are three violent werewolves running around. Nothing we can’t deal with, but it’s urgent.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” asks Magnus, straightening his back and motioning his hands to change his home clothing into something more rescue appropriate. 

Alexander stops his hand midair.

“No, please, it’s ok.  _ I got it _ .” he sounds stern and sweet at the same time, and Magnus is once again distracted by the heat of Alexander’s fingers on his skin. Really, it should be frustrating, but it’s a wonderful feeling.

“If you’re sure.” mutters Magnus, and it takes all of his inner strength to let Alexander go with just a quick peck on the lips. A tragedy, really. There should be strict rules on what a proper goodbye to one’s boyfriend must be. 

Ah well.

And so Magnus rolls his eyes and changes his clothes nevertheless (he’s already started and he has this great idea about color red), and then he goes to his study and, well, studies. He reads a book, takes some notes. Tries a spell he’s wanted to try for a while. Deals with the consequences of this spell (it’s nasty but at least colorful enough). Pops up to Paris for lunch (or late dinner). Visits Cat and Madzie and spends a lovely evening playing Monopoly and losing to a five year old. Has a very child friendly fight with Raphael over the latest law on fledglings. Eats dinner.

All in all, Magnus has a nice Sunday, even though it doesn’t go the way he expected it to.

And then it’s a late night, Magnus is in this sweet state of exhaustion, when he is feeling warm and tired because he was doing something exciting for a while. And the only problem now is that there is no Alexander in his bed.

And there is no Alexander at his table the next morning.

There is no Alexander for lunch or for a short phone call in between meetings. There is no sweet messages or quick kisses. And it’s very, very disturbing for someone who is used to a certain routine by now (and yes, okay, there is nothing  _ routine _ in Magnus life and he would die of boredom if there were, but Alexander is a new constant in his existing, and, well,  _ existing _ without his is highly unacceptable in Magnus opinion).

Magnus knows that it’s fine. They do go for days sometimes without talking (they’re highly capable adults, thank you very much), and Alexander is amazing at his job. And— and— oh damn it, Magnus hates every second being in the dark (not quite literally, but still).

There are very few things Magnus isn’t good at (mostly manual labour, not throwing things around and, maybe, a dialect or two), but there is this one thing he is truly terrible at, namely,  _ waiting _ .

It’s funny, really, he’s been alive for centuries. He remembers times when all he could do was wait - for letters, for new, for a carriage to bring him to his destination. 

And yet.

Not knowing if maybe something bad happened doesn’t help either, though with the amount of protective spells Magnus draped all over Alexander, at least one of them would’ve let him know if there was any kind of life threatening injury going on.

But Magnus is Magnus, an impatient centuries old warlock incapable of waiting another minute. And so he does the only thing possible - he dresses in red (and black, Alexander’s fault), puts on his eyeliner, spikes his hair and portals right to the middle of Ops room of the New York Institute.

And it’s a good thing he does.

So, now to avoid any confusion (or to add some more) we should probably talk a little about how not all downworlders are keen on the Institute in general and on nephilim, well, also in general. And how they tend to gang up (and who doesn’t?) and rush into things without thinking anything through.

A very human trait, one could say. But well.

That’s what happened to Alexander and his nephilim: a group of downworlders (mostly werewolves, since they work in groups the best) broke into the Institute using Underhill’s blood and tried to take hostages and shout out their demands to the Clave.

(Yes, it does sound ridiculous but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Ridiculous plans always work the best because who would in their right mind actually do something like this? So, yeah, that’s what happened.)

Now, when Magnus appears right in the middle of things, he unknowingly becomes the distraction Alexander needs the most. Werewolves turn to unexpected guest, and Magnus is old and skilled enough to put up his wards in that split second he gets before one of the intruders decide to attack first and think later. And Alexander uses that split second to do his own magic, which consists mostly of jumping out of his cover, shooting arrows and wielding his parabatai as the most irritating shield possible.

It all ends well, of course.

“I told you,  _ I got it _ .” grumbles Alexander, when Izzy claps shut the shackles on the last of their unsuccessful rebels.

“Oh, for Lilith sake, Alexander!” hisses Magnus, grabbing the stubborn nephilim by the lapels of his ridiculously fit jacket and kissing him senseless.

Even Jace’s wolf whistles don’t dampen Magnus’ mood in the slightest.

Later, when they get home, they will talk about it, the necessity of communication. About sharing the burden and alerting one another about any kind of danger that comes their way. Magnus would have a mini break down, thinking how Alexander could’ve been killed while he was lounging on his sofa listening to  _ Clair de Lune. _ And Alexander would run his fingers through Magnus’ hair again and again in an attempt of soothing all his worries. And they will go to bed together, sharing a nightmare or two. They’ll wake up in the middle of the night clutching one another, their breaths heavy and their hearts bearing thunderously. And it will take a few days for them to again be okay with not be about one another constantly (right until the next danger comes their way).

But that will happen later. Right now all Magnus can think about is the heat of Alexander’s mouth on his and the sweetness of their perfect Wednesday kiss. 

They really ought to do it more often.


End file.
